Of Books and Beverages
by AnorexicWalrus
Summary: Arthur Kirkland goes to order some tea at a nearby coffee shop. However, he is appalled by the service of the employee there, Alfred nes, and hopes to never see him again. Unlucky for him, Alfred doesn't want to let that Briton out of his sights.
1. Prologue: Written in the Stars

Prologue: Written in the stars

The air around London was the sort that nibbled at the bare tips of your fingers and sent shivers down your spine – bent from hanging over a desk all day, every day, in that miserable life you led. Prestigious people paraded down the busy streets, taking their life in their hands as they crossed the hectic roads, whilst the homeless people sat outside beautiful architecture, mumbling about the saddening events in their life, devoured by insanity and lack of luxury. Nobody stopped to admire the lights that glimmered in shop windows or on the large TV screens, as the novelty of them had worn over time. The streets weren't paved with gold, but with grey cement that had been penetrated by heavy briefcases being slammed down onto them, and the high heels of women clip clopping along the way to the jobs which were the most important thing to them if they longed to stay in such a beautifully dismal place.

A man with messy flaxen hair and cynical emerald eyes stood in the aged doorway of an old bookshop, shrugging his thick trench coat further over his shoulders and shivering as he looked over the scene of a night in London town. A visible puff of air escaped his blue lips, and he adjusted his plaid scarf over his face, trapping whatever warmth he could find in the chilling atmosphere. He stuck out like a sore thumb, what with his standing still and refusing to follow the endless crowd of people like a lost sheep. Not many of the people there even knew that they were acting like sheep, as they had probably never seen one during their time spent hiding within these hoary bricks.

The man himself had seen sheep when he had lived in the rolling countryside with his family, back in Mid-Devon, Southwest England. In a way, he missed the lush green scenery and the obvious changings of the seasons appearing on the colours of the leaves; but, at the same time, he loved where he was right now. He loved his small, cheap apartment which was warm despite the cold attitude of his neighbours. He loved the streets paved with dents in the cement tiles and unnoticed lights in the disregarded buildings. He loved the cries of "Read all about it" sang by the enthusiastic paper boys and the roar of fancy cars heard at night. He loved it all because he'd never experienced such a life before, and after three years of living there, the novelty had still not worn off for him, and he doubted it ever would. This was the capital of his magnificent country after all, and he'd be damned if he overlooked the delights of it.

Arthur Kirkland finally decided that he'd been sticking out long enough, and so, pushed himself away from the bookshop he loved – the bookshop that smelt of aging paper and clean carpets, and felt like the unison of the worlds enclosed in those bindings that sat neatly and orderly along the high shelves. He moved away from that, onto the pavement, still refusing to flock quickly like a sheep with the crowd, instead ambling in his own sweet time, homeward, looking up at the clear, dark sky as he did so. He sighed, another visible puff of air escaping, his thick eyebrows creasing, as he realised how much he missed the stars.

* * *

><p>Alfred rolled over slightly to look out of the window, out at the night sky. It was empty, and dark, and had an air of loneliness about it. Just like Alfred himself.<p>

Was the person meant for him looking at that exact same sky right at that moment?

Would he ever find that person meant for him?

He would have wished for it, if only there were stars to wish upon.

* * *

><p>Arthur sighed serenely as he sat in his worn pea green armchair, sipping his warm cup of earl grey, with a pale hand placed on the book he expertly balanced upon his knee. It had turned out to be another good day in this beautiful town. He had awoken without feeling the least bit groggy, and it appeared that his shower had finally been fixed as it worked when he used it that morning. There had been a few tasty scones left at the nearby coffee shop that morning, and he had managed to sell a few books to a good home at the bookshop that day.<p>

Those were the days he strived for always. Those orderly days that played out to benefit him. Days that were not interrupted by idiotic people or being late for a scheduled event or the sad spilling of food on his best blouse.

He looked away from his book at the moment, at the starless sky, taking another sip of his drink, enjoying the hot liquid that cascaded down his parched throat and left a refined taste on his tongue.

This longing to _not_ lead a messy life was exactly why he was single. He had experienced past relationships where the partner always got in his way. A man he had used to date, a bloody Frenchman, had once made him late as he couldn't shift his weight off of him to get out of bed. A Ukrainian woman he once dated spent hours getting ready to go out, and was always so clumsy. Other relationships just got sick of his apparent "old man" behaviour and left him.

Good riddance. He scoffed at the memories of them.

No, Arthur Kirkland did not have the time for any needless company that would only hold him back rather than let him progress in life. He was perfectly happy the way he was, and did not crave a sudden change.

He would have wished for his life to stay this way, but there were no stars to wish upon.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

**Hello, guys! Sorry this is so bad, but it's my first ever prologue, so I didn't really know where I was going with it. Still, this site is all about improving your writing, right? Right.  
>Anyway, this is the prologue for an Alfred x Arthur story I'm writing. It's going to be my first, so please don't expect too much, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.<br>****Can anyone guess why I called this prologue "Written in the stars"? Maybe there is deep meaning to it, concerning the fact that nothing is written as there are no stars, so the future of Alfred and Arthur shall be unpredictable. Or perhaps it's because of the constant, unintentional mentioning of stars? Go figure!  
>Thank you for reading!<strong>

**AnorexicWalrus~**


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

The maddening ringing of the alarm and the muffled sounds of beeping cars and chattering people are what awoke Arthur from his sleep. His eyes fluttered open, and he stifled a tired groan.

Despite his consciousness, he lay there for a while, indulging himself in the warm comfort his duvets emitted. His fingers absently rubbed at the material of the sheets as he gazed out of the window at his bedside.

It was another ordinary day in London – hectic streets, hectic roads, and hectic people.

He looked back at the room he resided in, at the pea green chair in the corner and the brimming bookshelf and the orderly kitchen and the neat table-tops. It was everything he loved in a room really, and yet he felt so sad. He enjoyed his own company, and yet the room just screamed isolation in the most depressing way possible. Still, better to be lonely than spend his life with idiots.

He looked over at the calendar on his bedside table, rubbing his bleary eyes and stifling a yawn.

_Monday 21__st__ November_

It was a work day.

Arthur finally decided it was about time he joined in on the hectic ways of the city, and so, he shuffled to the shower in his nightwear, the rough carpet scratching against his bare feet.

* * *

><p>"Please could you take my shift?" Antonio begged through the phone, his pleading really pulling at the heartstrings of the hesitant American, "Just for today, man!"<p>

Alfred laughed uncomfortably, "Dude, really, it's only a half day today, so I'm sure you can handle it." He couldn't believe that his co-worker was shoving this on him suddenly, making him take the morning shift. Alfred wasn't a morning person, thus why he took the evening shift. But since it was a half day, he needn't take it, and could relax at home all day.

Or so he thought.

"_¡__Dios m__í__o, por favour_!" begged the Spaniard, "Lovino is threatening to break up with me if we don't spend more time together, so I really need to have today off to be with him!"

Antonio twiddled with his thumbs on the other end, face creased in anxiety, awaiting a reply, but gaining nought but silence. _Had Alfred hung up? Should he put the phone down and cry, or phone him back and keep pestering him?_ He needn't have panicked though, as after a few more moments he heard a depressed sigh.

"Fine, I'll take the stupid shift."

Antonio beamed a smile, though it was useless with no one there to see it, "_Gracias_, Alfred,_ mi amigo_!"

"Yeah, yeah," chortled Alfred, "No problem, bro. But you owe me. _Big_ time!"

"_S__í__, s__í_," grinned Antonio, "_Muchas gracias. Hasta luego_!"

"_Hasta luego, _you bastard."

Alfred listened to laughter radiating from his friend before the phone clicked off and he was left with the buzz of the dial tone.

He put the phone down and scratched the back of his head, swinging around in his chair, "Well," he breathed, "Time to get to work."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Arthur was strolling down the street, heading for the nearby coffee shop to get some breakfast before work, like he always did. The sky was a murky – as if grey had been smeared into blue on a palette. The streets were like that of a charcoal drawing – whites, greys, blacks, all smeared together to make something distinguishable.<p>

He hummed a tune as he strolled, content in knowing that nobody could hear him in the midst of the clamour of London. It wasn't any particular tune – just rambled, clashing hums that merged into each other, forming a sound that expressed Arthur's current mood.

Happiness.

Yes, he was happy. His favourite city was looking wonderful, as usual, and it would be another good day at the old bookshop, where he'd spend more time reading than serving due to the lack of customers. Although he was actually glad to have time to read, he was quite upset what with how little customers they got. People never wanted to read anymore it seemed. They were all for the blasted PS-something and those bloody Pods of the i. Books, with their textured paper and neatly printed lettering and unique scent, seemed to have been forgotten in the rush for more and more and more of this new, fangled technology.

Arthur jeered, _Pathetic. Technology is going to be the fall of man._

Having thought this, he couldn't help but laugh at the irony when he saw a man who had been texting meaningless things on his new, shiny Blackberry bump into a lamppost, as he wasn't looking where he was going, and fall over.

_Fool._

Arthur finally made it to the shop, bumbling inside and sighing at the warmth of the hot air conditioning. Great, now how could he ever leave out into the nippy chills of winter again what with this temperature being so inviting and tempting? Then again, looking at the size of the queue, it seemed Arthur was never going to be able to leave anyway.

There were fifteen very angry looking Londoners, all tapping their feet in a line, wishing for the stupid, ignorant, loud, American, arrogant, pathetic, American, ridiculous, unreal, and did he mention American cashier serving them to hurry up; his productivity idle due to the fact that he kept laughing, annoyingly, at every syllable which escaped the customer's mouth.

"Dude, you sound so totally British!" he laughed again, unaware of the tension in the atmosphere. Could he even read the atmosphere? Arthur seriously doubted it as he joined the parade of toe-tappers and checked his watch.

The watch had been a Christmas present from his old French boyfriend, now just his friend he occasionally contacted, and it had a thin, pea green strap, a shiny gold frame and the numbers printed in a clear, Roman font.

"_This way you have something to read when there isn't a book in your hand, non? See, mon ch__é__ri? You can read the numbers, right? Aren't I practical?"_

Arthur laughed silently, remembering the idiotic Frenchman.

"_Practical? More like barbaric. You're as practical as a dog given to a cat lover."_

Even though he had said this, Arthur realised what the Frenchman was trying to do. He knew that Arthur loved to read – anywhere and everywhere – so this was his way of being…uh, practical, in a sense. And it worked, for reading soothed him, and reading the time _6:30am _on the black and white face of the clock did calm him.

Until the time sunk in.

He was late.

Arthur recoiled from the watch, as if it was going to bite him. Although the watch certainly wouldn't do that, his manager sure would if he was late for work, which began for him at _6:40am._ It would take him fifteen minutes just to walk to the shop, and then he needs to set up shop twenty minutes before it opens at _7:00am._

Arthur looked up from the watch and scowled ahead at the oblivious American, hoping that the man would sense his threatening green eyes piercing into him. Sadly, he still couldn't read the atmosphere.

Arthur was considering storming up there and giving him a piece of his mind – but then he remembered that it wasn't within him to interfere.

The British think "Prick" and say "Tut"; not the other way round. Unless of course you were more acquainted with the person in question, in which case you could bluntly tell them what you thought of them without the fear of making a scene – and scene making was another thing the British did not do – but Arthur had no idea who this idiotic man was, and, quite frankly, didn't want to know, thank you very much.

Perhaps he could just leave and go to work? Walk away and pretend he had never been there? Ah, but he needed his breakfast, or else he'd starve throughout the morning. I-It wasn't that he couldn't make his own breakfast or anything! He just appreciated the scones from this coffee shop!

Yeah, that was it.

Well perhaps he could just starve? As the British say, "Keep calm and carry on". He could sneakily walk away without anyone noticing, hurry casually down the street, and make it to work right on time. Who knew, maybe his manager had some of those pancakes he usually carried around on him? If that was so, and he was lucky, then maybe, just maybe…

"Hello, sir!" exclaimed the voice Arthur had come to despise in the last few minutes, "What would you like to order?"

What was this? It had appeared that whilst Arthur had been thinking, the queue had slowly but surely moved forwards – like the waves of the ocean lazily lapping at the shore on a not-very-windy day. Arthur recoiled for a moment, startled not only by his subconscious progress, but by the dazzling smile glowing on the face before him.

_Wow, talk about aching cheeks in the morning with that kind of smile all day._

Arthur quickly regained his composure, coughed so as to clear his throat, and replied, in a less than positive tone of voice.

"You can get me my wasted time back. Do you have any idea how long I was in that queue due to your unnecessary dawdling?"

Shit, did he really just reprimand this guy? He swore to abide by the British code: Think prick, say tut. Why did he unleash his annoyance? Arthur didn't know – something about this man just…

"Hahaha! Dude, your British accent is so totally…I dunno, British!"

Arthur scowled, wincing, baring his crooked fangs, increasing his foot tapping until it was like the fast pace of one of those techno songs he hated so much.

"My, thank you for noticing and clarifying that. However, I would very much like to hurry this whole thing up; I'm rather late, thanks to a certain idiot before me." Arthur watched in amazement as the American just nodded his head and _took_ the insults, as if he were immune to British sarcasm and affronts…Thinking about it more, he probably simply couldn't understand.

_Typical American._

"Ha, sure! So, what'll it be?" he replied, leaning over the counter, his bright blue eyes boring into Arthur's green ones, his smile shining like the sun, contrasting Arthur's upside down crescent lips, like that of a hazy half-moon.

Arthur replied with confidence, having ordered this beverage and nothing but for a while, "Earl grey."

A look of disgust crossed the American's face, and he stuck his tongue out at the title, "Ew, leaf water!"

Arthur's patience was disappearing, but his anger was arriving, coming over the horizon like a pirate ship ready to dock with treasures. Except Arthur would not be giving treasure to the young cashier. No, he'd be presenting him with something viler – something like words that should not be uttered and certain fingers that should not be shown. "I would appreciate it, lad, if you kept your opinions to yourself and just made the bloody drink."

"Hey, is that Artie?" growled a familiar scratchy voice. Arthur turned to peer into the doorway of the back room, being met with a pair of crimson eyes.

"Why, if it isn't the albino git." said Arthur, maintaining a monotone voice whilst addressing his old friend. The man just laughed, throwing his head back and opening his wide mouth, showing his sharp teeth.

"It's nice to see you too, Artie, m'man!" he joined the American slouching over the counter, puffing his chest out, putting the embroidered chick on the chest of his apron on full display, "Same as usual, yeah? Tea and scones?" The American laughed once again, and Arthur had to unravel his hand from a fist shape so as to refrain from punching the annoying twat.

"Seriously? Tea and scones? Dude, you're the most British guy I've ever seen!" he leaned even further over the counter, to the extent where Arthur thought he was going to topple right over it, "Man, do you have crooked teeth too? Oh, and do you say "Ev'nin', guvnor"? Please say ev'nin, guvnor!"

"First of all, the time of day is not right to exclaim that it is the evening. As well as that, the synonym of guvnor would be, to put it into context that you'd understand, 'pal'. Thus, it would only work if I were to call a close friend of mine, such as Gilbert here, 'guvnor'. If I said it to you…why, that would be total misuse of the term." Arthur folded his arms and hoped that the man, who was called Alfred, or so said his name badge that he hadn't noticed before, could understand, "It would be total misuse as we are not at all close friends, nor are we even mere friends. We can't even be classed as acquaintances. Perhaps enemies? Unless, of course, you silence your tongue and do your bloody job!"

Alfred was, once again, not put off by Arthur's harsh words, merely continuing to smile and saluting him as he turned away to make the tea. Arthur unfolded his arms and placed his hands on the counter, having them at the ready so that he could grab his goods and run, far away, very fast. "Tell me, Gilbert, do you always hire such insufferable twonks as our dear boy, Alfred, here?"

Gilbert laughed, "Part of my protocol, Art! If they're not twonks, they're not treasured!"

"You made that alliteration up on the spot, didn't you?"

"Don't I always!"

"Ah, never mind! Where is Antonio anyway?" he asked as he shifted his hands to get the adequate amount of money out of his coat pockets, placing it upon the counter, assured that the amount was right after ordering the same thing nearly every day.

"Ah, he took a day off." replied Gilbert, taking the money into his own hands and pocketing it in his apron, "That's why Alfred's here, filling in for him, even though it's meant to be his day off. Ain't that right, Al?"

"Right!" exclaimed the American as he banged Arthur's cup of tea down onto the counter, shocking the Briton out of his conversation and almost spilling the beverage, "So I should get praise rather than insults, right?"

_Ah, he did understand that he was being insulted after all. Not bad, Alfred. Not bad…_

"Ah, I suppose I could spoil you, so listen up," Arthur drew in a breath, closing his eyes as if in deep thought or concentration, and then let it out, "Good lad." He paused again so as to let emphasis slather the 'praise' like gold on a piece of jewellery before proceeding, "There, I praised you. However, you don't deserve it, as you've forgotten the scones."

"Actually, I was totally about to get those for ya!" Alfred replied, grabbing a paper bag and shaking it open before picking up some tongs and shoving a few scones in the bag. The sight of the warm bread packed with currants made Arthur's eyes widen and he had to stop himself from drooling. It would not be a gentlemanly thing to do after all. Still, he could not stop his face from lighting up or his nose from taking a whiff of the familiar, sweet smell. He was shaken out of his dreamy thoughts by the American man once again however, as Alfred dangled the bag in his now disapproving face.

Arthur snatched the bag out of the man's hands, gave one last glare to the overly-peppy man, then turned to bid Gilbert a farewell nod before quickly scurrying out of the shop like a mouse being chased.

Of course, he was being chased.

By the gaze of Alfred.

His gaze lingered at the door from which Arthur left, even when he had long gone, and even when addressing his manager, "Hey, Gil, you seemed pretty close with that guy just now. Artie, was it?"

Gilbert looked up at him from his focused job of re-stocking the pastries, replacing the bare spaces on the warm trays with new products ready to be consumed, "Yeah, his full name is Arthur, but I just call him Artie, y'know. Why'd you ask?"

Alfred's gaze finally left the door, falling onto Gilbert.

"What can you tell me about him?"

"I'm so sorry, Matthew!" cried Arthur, bowing down before his manager, out of breath from running, "I know, I'm late, I'm so sorry to have let you down!"

Arthur hated being late. Especially when it wasn't his fault. It was that stupid Alfred's fault. Oh, how that American git would pay if he lost his job!

"I-It's alright, Arthur, really. You're only about five minutes late, so that's absolutely forgivable." replied Matthew, swiping Arthur's unnecessary apology away with his hand, "Just contact me and inform me if you're going to be late next time, okay?"

Arthur stood up straight again and exhaled in relief, nodding his head, "Okay." He briskly walked to the back room of the dusty bookshop, plonking himself down into an old, battered armchair, causing more dust to burst forth into the stuffy air. The chair was donated, of course, like many of the things in the shop – donated by a man called Heracles Karpusi. He had obviously been an owner of a cat or two, as there were quite a few scratches in the material. Arthur poked at the scratched material, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Why he was touching the scratches, he did not know. Arthur just had to touch things for some unknown reason. Whether it be stroking the details on his cup of tea or letting his fingers follow the paragraphs of a book, he couldn't resist. He stopped touching however, as his stomach gurgled.

Arthur laughed at himself embarrassedly, pulling his bag of scones from his pocket and settling down.

Arthur sighed and leaned over the desk as he looked up at the old grandfather clock wedged between a couple of bookshelves.

_4:37pm_

Arthur sighed once again, more heavily this time, and let his head fall to the desk.

It had been a considerably uneventful day. The only customers they had gained were a Chinese man who kept asking if they had a cute book, aru, a Lithuanian who had just sat quietly in the corner on one of the old beanbags and read for an hour or so before finally purchasing the book (this wasn't a bloody library – it was a place where you were meant to purchase books! Not to read them without paying even a penny), and Heracles Karpusi, who had requested a book about cats, confirming Arthur's suspicions that he was a cat owner. Arthur could have read for the last ten hours if he wished, but there was nothing to read. He had already read every book in the shop. As well as that, he had gotten no lunch, as he was afraid of running into that Alfred man at the coffee shop again, and so, he was starving, and thus, ready to bite anyone's head off, which is why Matthew had avoided him for most of the day. Matthew knew what he was like when hungry. However, Matthew finally came out of hiding to address the frustrated Englishman.

"Arthur, we're going to start closing now." he squeaked, hiding his frightened face behind a book, with only his amethyst eyes and wavy blonde hair poking out over the top of it, "Can you help pack up shop?"

Arthur smiled tiredly and stood up straight, nodding, reassuring the Canadian, "Yes, of course."

Matthew released a sigh of relief and disappeared into the backroom as Arthur squeezed through the small gap in the desk towards the door, ready to change the yellowing sign that signified they were open to saying they were closed. His hand reached out to the sign and grabbed the old, bumpy cardboard, ready to flip it over and put an end to another dismal work day. He was ready to go home and eat something before settling into his bed and letting the day just end.

_BANG!_

Arthur jumped away from the door – leaping away, hair raised, like a startled cat. He raised his arms up to his head, protecting his face, and lifted his knee to guard his torso. He knew that robberies and muggings were bad and common in London, but why a bookshop? Why a small, under-paid man from the country? Why was he so unlucky as to have this happen to him? Was this the end, or was there time to call the police, or shout for Matthew to phone the police? Oh, but they'd need a description, so they'd know who to look for.

Arthur hesitantly opened his winced eyes, scared of seeing a gun aimed at his face or blood gushing out of somewhere from hundreds of pieces of broken glass from the door penetrating some sort of flesh, or….or…

"Alfred?" He exclaimed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes: I just want to say thank you ever so much to everyone who favourited this story and put it on alert. I am very grateful, and surprised. I never imagined to get such a following so early. Maybe one or two people, but never...Oh, I don't know how many! Thank you guys! However, be prepared for a boring series! It is my first after all, and I'm sorry if this chapter simply dragged and dragged!<br>Also, please forgive me for my terrible Spanish. I had to rely on internet sources for it, and I'm so sorry if it's wrong! If it is wrong, then could a speaker of Spanish please correct me? I do wish oh so very much to learn Spanish after all - it's a beautiful language. Heck, a lot of languages are beautiful! Apart from Welsh. I don't really like Welsh.  
>Ah, sorry, I'm getting off track! The main point is I hope you enjoyed this and are still hoping for more!<br>Thanks again! Lots of love!**

**Translations:**

_iDis mios, por favour! = Oh my god, please!_

_Gracias = Thanks_

_Mi amigo = My friend_

_Si, si = Yes, yes_

_Muchas gracias = Thanks a lot_

_Hasta luego = See you later_

**AnorexicWalrus~**


	3. News

**Hey, sorry for tricking you and making you think that there was a new chapter when, actually, it's just a bit of news. But very important news concerning the story. Yes, for I am going to tell you of a very big change.**

**Right, let's not beat around the bush. This story has been terribly planned out. In fact, you can say it hasn't been planned out at all. Furthermore, this story is boring, isn't it? Just reading on as Alfred and Arthur fall in love, la-di-da, nothing much ever happening, besides romance and all that mushy stuff. And so, I am discontinuing the story. **

**However, I shall recontinue it in a new format. I have been replanning OBAB lately with help from my life-saving, story-saving friend, pie1313, and we have come up with a plan for Alfred and Arthur's love life. But not just the love life of Alfred and Arthur, oh no; for I will be introducing more couples into the story. Yes, that's right - Of Books and Beverages will now cover the falling in love process of five couples, which are:**

**USUK  
>Gerita<br>Spamano  
>Giripan<br>Sufin**

**The more the merrier, right? If you don't like any of the couples in the list, you can easily avoid them, for they will be updated in that order (For example: CH1 - USUK, CH2 - Gerita, CH3- Spamano, CH4 - Giripan, CH5 - Sufin, CH6 - USUK, CH7 - Gerita, all in a big circle like that, so if you want to skip Giripan then miss out on chapters such as 4 and 9 and so on, or if you want to miss Gerita then miss out on chapters such as 2 and 7, etc etc). However, some couples may intersect and briefly appear in one another's slots, so you can't avoid them then, I'm afraid. I hope you enjoy nonetheless.**

**This change is going to take a while to initiate, for I have to plan out all the details for all five couples (although USUK is going to pretty much go in the same direction it was, with Alfred working at the coffee shop and Arthur, who works at the bookshop, meeting him there), but I hope you can be patient, for some of the chapters are already underway and looking pretty good, if I do say so myself. I hope that those of you following this story continue to do as such, despite the change.**

**Thank you ever so much for your support of OBAB, despite the lack of updates. I apologise for being so disorganised, and promise to fix it up well and good and never do it again.**

**AnorexicWalrus~**


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